


Last Time

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a bad night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Time

Illya had been up with Napoleon for most of the night and, though they slept a little later than usual, Illya was still half asleep as he wandered into the kitchen.  He opened the blinds and the morning sun glancing in through the window promised the first bright day of summer.  He emptied the last of the coffee into the percolator.  They needed groceries. He would try to get a delivery, he couldn’t think of leaving the house today. 

Plunging his hands into the pockets of his robe he waited for the slow drip of filtering coffee to begin.  He was pleased when it did.  He had spent the last couple of days tinkering with the machine to get it going after it broke down.  Jessie said she was going to get them a new one.  These Americans, they liked to throw things away. 

Satisfied the machine was working he went out into the hall to pick up the newspaper lying on the doormat.  At the kitchen table he tried to read the headlines but realised he wasn’t wearing his glasses and couldn’t remember where he’d left them.  He sighed, the world could wait.  The world could go to hell. 

”Are you looking for these?”  He looked up; Napoleon was in the doorway holding his glasses.  He was leaning on the stick he used only when the pain was particularly bad. 

”Thank you,” said Illya, accustomed to having his mind read. “What are you doing up?” Illya was used to seeing Napoleon looking unwell but today he had almost no colour.  

”Seemed a shame to stay in bed on a day like this.”  Napoleon made his way to the table and lowered himself into one of the chairs.  He watched the trickle of coffee into the jug.  “So you got that thing working?  I don’t believe it.” 

Illya had put on his glasses and was pretending to read the paper. 

”You showed considerably more confidence in me when you were sending me to defuse all those bombs.”  

Napoleon chuckled.  ”Well I wasn’t going to do it myself and risk getting my hair mussed up.” 

Illya looked up from the newspaper.  He couldn’t remember when Napoleon’s hair had turned completely grey, when the lines left the corners of his smile to creep across his face, when his brown eyes lost their clarity.  You stopped paying attention for a moment and it happened.  He was still handsome though, despite the illness, the eyes still laughed. 

Remembering what he had gone into the kitchen to do he went to the counter and poured two mugs of coffee. 

”What do you want for breakfast?” he asked, putting one of them in front of Napoleon.  “You have to have something.” 

”I’ll have something later Illya, I promise,”  He took a sip of coffee but Illya could see he was just doing it out of loyalty. 

”Napoleon, let me get the doctor,” he said evenly.  Napoleon shook his head. 

”I’m due a couple of those tablets, I’ll be fine.” 

Illya took some juice from the fridge and poured a glass for Napoleon.  He had the bottle of tablets in his pocket from last night and he took out two of the painkillers.  He watched as Napoleon swallowed them, watched the tremor in his hand as he lifted the glass of juice.  Napoleon met his gaze for a moment and then he reached for his stick and used it to help himself stand. 

”I’m going to take a shower,” he said and began the trek to the bathroom. 

Illya watched him go.  He waited as long minutes passed and he heard the sound of the shower.  Napoleon hated being helped and Illya did his best to respect that but today, it wasn’t a conscious thought that led him to go through their bedroom into the bathroom, undress and join Napoleon in the shower cubicle. 

Napoleon immediately gripped his shoulder for support.  He had been right to come in. 

It was more than forty years since he had first shared a shower with Napoleon, a different decade, a different century.  Slipped by in a blink of an eye.  He remembered the hotel room, where was it? Vienna, the clothes and weapons and communicators discarded on the floor, two erections demanding attention in a jet of water and passion.  Their bodies had been a lot more reliable then, not to mention presentable. 

He scarcely believed in those days now.  He put his arm around Napoleon noticing how thin the familiar body had become and began to wash him by soaping him all over.  There was no resistance, even yesterday there would have been. 

Afterwards Napoleon sat on the bed wrapped in towels trying to catch his breath while Illya dressed.  Then Illya knelt and began to dry him as gently as he could. 

”Bad day, love?” he asked.  He noticed his skin had begun to flake, he wasn’t drinking enough, he had to get him to drink today. 

Napoleon reached and touched Illya’s face before leaning to kiss his lips.  Illya sensed the urgency of a goodbye kiss and, chilled, he drew away to search for reassurance in Napoleon’s eyes.  Instead Napoleon drew Illya into his arms. 

”Do you ever wish we’d gone out together in a blaze of bullets?” Napoleon asked as Illya laid his head against the bare shoulder. 

”Like those two cowboys?” 

”Butch and Sundance, sure, like them. It would have saved us all this.”  Illya considered the question. 

”I’ve never wished for death since the day I met you.”  Illya felt Napoleon’s embrace tighten. 

”Angel,” Napoleon whispered. 

Illya was just finishing buttoning Napoleon’s shirt when the doorbell rang.  It was Napoleon’s niece, Jessie.  She was carrying a bag of groceries. 

”Hi Jessie, this is a surprise.” 

”It shouldn’t be, I told you I’d pick up a few things for you.”  That sort of jogged a memory. 

She put the bag on the kitchen table and kissed Illya’s cheek.  When she wore her hair up she looked very much like her mother, Maggie.  Who was dead these five years. 

Illya had first understood he was old when Jessie started ‘dropping by’, now and then, with a few things, or just ‘to say hi’.  “She’s coming to make sure we haven’t slipped in the bath or given all our money to a cat” Napoleon had observed quite unkindly after the first couple of times.  But without question she was keeping an eye on them. 

Illya watched her putting away the groceries with the whirlwind competence of youth. 

But youth was relative.  Jessie was in her forties with a growing family.  When had that happened? 

”Would you like some coffee, Jessie?” 

She looked at the percolator.  “You managed to fix it then?  I remember that thing from when I was at school.  Don’t you think it’s time to let it go peacefully?” 

”Ah, you are as bad as him.  There’s nothing wrong with it.” 

”OK, I’m convinced,” she said taking a cup.  “How is he?” 

”Not so good today.  But he’s up. You can go and see him.”  Illya had heard Napoleon go into the living room. 

She looked into her coffee cup.  “Don’t you think he should be in hospital now Uncle Illya?  He’s very ill.” 

”He’s managing,” he said defensively.  Other than taking increasing strengths of pain killers Napoleon had refused all treatment since his diagnosis. He hadn’t wanted to go through the indignities that would result from medical attempts to prolong his life.  He wanted to stay at home.  And Illya had been just as reluctant to part with him as he became increasingly frail. 

”How long are you going to be able to take care of him?” she asked exasperated. 

”He doesn’t need taking care of,” Illya snapped.  He wasn’t about to mention what had happened this morning. 

Her expression softened as if she suddenly realised the territory she stepped on. 

”I know.  Sorry,” she said. She finished her coffee.  “I’ll go on in and see him then.” 

Napoleon had gone through the living room out into the backyard.  He was sitting in a reclining sun chair, his eyes closed.  It was becoming a fine day. 

Napoleon opened his eyes as Illya put a throw from the couch around him and Jessie sat in the other chair. 

”Hello Maggie,” he said.  The smile froze on Jessie’s face. 

”Uncle,” she said gently.  “It’s me, Jessie.” 

”Ah, yes,” he murmured but began to look confused. 

”It’s an easy mistake,” Illya said quickly.  “She looks like her mother doesn’t she?”  This really was too much. 

Jessie began to make conversation but she was looking at Illya as if to say, “Well?”  Eventually Napoleon became more focused. 

”You’re not at work today?” he asked. 

”I’m on my way to meet a client,” she glanced at her watch.  “Actually I’d better go.”  Standing she kissed first Illya and then Napoleon.  Napoleon hugged her. 

”Will you come over tonight Jessie?” he asked before releasing her.  She looked at him oddly but said. 

”Sure, I’ll stop by on my way home.”  She glanced at Illya.  “Phone me on the mobile if you need anything.”  When she had gone Napoleon said. 

”I screwed up there didn’t I?” 

”Your timing has always been poor, Napoleon.”  Illya saw that the moment of confusion had passed.  He drew the second chair next to Napoleon so the two were facing each other.  “Your niece is a wonderful woman but also...” 

”...scary. Yes, I know.” 

”Why did you ask her over tonight?”  Napoleon hesitated. 

”You know you’re just as much family to her as I am,” he said. 

”I know,” Illya replied but didn’t understand why Napoleon hadn’t answered his question. 

”Illya?” 

”Love?” 

”What were you planning to do today?” 

”Since we have already saved the polar icecaps I thought I’d do some laundry.” 

”Leave the laundry today.” 

”All right,” said Illya, not daring to ask why. 

The day was unexpectedly temperate. Warm enough for Napoleon to stay outside listening to the radio or taking the occasional walk to examine the flower beds that Illya tidied and watered. 

About half way through the afternoon he ate a sandwich and drank a glass of juice.  He didn’t seem to want or need either and only accepted them when the length of time he had gone without food or drink began to upset Illya. 

There were other things.  Napoleon began to talk about people who were long dead as if they were still living and of far off events as though they happened yesterday.  Illya did not correct him, he seemed content to wander through the years in this way but he couldn’t understand how Napoleon could slip away from him so quickly. 

The afternoon turned into evening and Illya sat close to Napoleon.  He read to him from the paper until the light began to fade.  Once, Napoleon reached out a hand to push it through Illya’s hair, now also grey.  Illya, in an ancient response, took the hand and kissed it and held it in his own. 

When he saw Napoleon drifting into sleep Illya put aside the newspaper and watched him.  For a long time, perhaps hours, the only sounds were the distant voices of the family next door, an aeroplane passing overhead, the song of a bird briefly alighting on the fence and Napoleon’s shallow but steady breathing.  Then Napoleon woke though he did not open his eyes. 

”Illya,” he murmured. 

Illya leaned over to kiss Napoleon’s lips but he was already gone.

 

End 

October 1999


End file.
